Years
by pansexualwaffle
Summary: UPDATE; A collection of historically accuarate drabbles between Russia and China, through the years. Some age bending included.
1. 1685

This short drabble-fic is from the point of view of Russia during 1685, when Albazin was invaded by the Chinese army of the Qing dynasty. These events lead to the treaty of Nerchinsk. There was some age bending, but I tried to keep it...realistic. Ish.  
I apologize that the Chinese is written in pinyin as opposed to kanji, but the translators weren't writing it correctly.

* * *

They look so...different.

That thought crept through the tiny boys mind as he watched the men walk past the border and towards the city of Albazin. Vancheka, being on six at the time, had no idea what was actually going on, and didn't realise the ammount of danger he was in, just by standing there.  
the leader of the men, an older man with black hair that was pulled back against his neck, saw the child and began to yell. "Zŏu kāi! Shăo chŭn cái!"

Before the child had a chance to run away in fear, another one of them stepped forward. At first glance, anyone in Russia would have guessed that it was a woman, but no, the little Vanya realized that it was a man.  
"Xiē cài! Jìng yī jìng!" The leader looked surprised at the outburst and bowed his head respectfully afterward, as the feminine man murmured, "Bù Huáng."

They're language was so different compared to what the little blonde was used to. Every aspect of these men was truly different.

The men pushed on towards the city, all except that one. He knelt down in front of the little boy, asking with his eyes if everything was alright.  
Vancheka's violet eyes scanned over him, and he reached one gloved hand out and touched the dark black hair. He observed every little detail about the foreigner, from his golden brown eyes to the odd clothing he was wearing. Judging from the look on the other's face, he was thinking about the Russian's odd appearance as well. After another moment, he murmured something to the boy in his language again before following after the leader.  
Vancheka never forgot that face- and it would prove to be a good thing in a few years when they finally met again.

Until then, китаец.

* * *

*Zŏu kāi = Get out of the way!  
*Shăo chŭn cái = Little idiot(?)  
*Xiē cài = Stop it!  
*Jìng yī jìng = Calm yourself  
*Bù Huáng = No time.  
*китаец = (This one SHOULD mean) Chinaman. It was the closest I could get to China.

There will be more written in this style, maybe in this story if anyone likes it...


	2. 1689: Treaty of Nerchinsk

Uhm, I only got a couple of reviews on this story, but they were both really sweet and encourage me to add onto this. So, continuing with my "historical accuracy", here is chapter two of Years.  
AS FOR THE FOREIGN LANGUAGES; I don't speak Mandarin (I'm learning as of next semester), and I don't speak a lick of Russia. I am just using translators. It will get better when they learn to speak the same language. ^^;

* * *

Fours years. It had been four years since they had gone marching into the frozen country, intent of taking land. And now they would be getting it, though through much calmer methods than some would have liked.

Yao separated away from the group of people who were mobbing around Songgotu and slipped outside to inhale the cold, fresh air. Even during the summer seasons, it was surprisingly chilly there. There, sitting down on one of the small benches, he allowed his mind to wander. Instead of focusing on the treaty at hand, he wondered about things such as the people here and the country itself. Where was he? Yao knew that when something such as this happened, the country himself was supposed to be present. He wondered what he would look like, how he would act. The country was younger than most, he knew that, as well as previously being a Viking country. The Asian inhaled deeply again and closed his eyes.

"Чего вы делаете в холоде?"  
Torn away from deep thoughts, Yao looked down at the child speaking in the foreign language. He used the term child loosely, seeing as the boy was ten and easily up to the Asian's shoulder. None the less, in comparison the boy was little more than an infant to him.  
The boy repeated the question, and Yao cursed to himself at not understand the language. One of the several translators who had been coming to the meeting was walking by conveniently, and Yao called him over.

"Please ask him what he is saying..." Yao asked the man, who nodded and turned to the little boy. Obviously irritated, the boy once again repeated his sentence, eyes never leaving the Asian country. The translator turned back to him and said, "He is asking you why you are out here."

Yao looked down at the boy, and without breaking his gaze told the translator to continue to help them in their conversation.

"I am out here to think."  
"Think about what?"  
"That is a good question. Another thing for me to think about." The little boy furrowed his brow at this, obviously confused at the man's logic. The translator looked between them, not looking even vaguely interested. He was merely paid to translate.

"I asked you a question." The boy stated, and Yao laughed, lightly but strongly.  
"Little boy, why do you seem so familiar?"  
"Because..." The translator paused, seeming confused, before finishing the sentence, "You've met me before."

It was Yao's turn to be confused, and he looked the little boy up and down, before he noticed.  
"Zĭ luó làn sè." _Violet eyes._  
"You are that boy from those years ago..."  
"I am, yes. I knew it was you, sir..."

The translator stopped, again looking between the two of them curiously. Did either of them truly know who the other was?  
"Sir? No, do not call me such a thing, please. Such formalities are not necessary...my name is Wang Yao."  
"I am...Vancheka Braginsky."

This time, the translator did not need to help. Yao spoke for himself, playing with the foreign name. "Van...cheka...."

The two had continued their conversation for a a while longer, before Yao was called back by Songgotu to start the meeting. He bowed his head goodbye, before rushing away. The translator bowed his head as well, rushing off and leaving Vancheka alone. "J-Jao..." He repeated the name softly to himself, before following after into the meeting room.

* * *

The treaty of Nerchinsk was signed on August 27th, 1689, by Songgotu on behalf of the Kanxi Emperor anbd Fedor Golovin on behalf of Tsar's Peter I and Ivan V. This treaty was the first ever between Russia and China, and gave China control of the area north of the Amur River and east of the Argun River.  
Songgotu was later found guilty for attempted murder against the emperor. He was imprisoned and died of starvation. Golovin "was the last Russian boyar and the first Russian chancellor, field marshal, general admiral. Until his death he was the most influential of Peter the Great's associates."(Wikipedia)

INACCURACY; although I have Yao speak Mandarin Chinese, there were no mandarins at the signing of the treaty. The reason? The journey had to be made on horseback and most gentlemen had not mastered this skill.

If you still like this, please leave me a review~ It's really encouraging for someone like me. I've very...approval desperate. Next up? The fall of the monarchies; 1912 and 1917. They might be two chapters or I may combine them into one. This story will only lead up to 1991, after which I will just switch to my fluff and lemons~!


	3. 1912: Xinhai Revolution

AN; Thank you to all the nice reviews~! It was enough to make me continue doing this, even though this is kind of...aggravating. This particular one took me four attempts...ugh. But, here it is~! Bad chapter is bad.  
And obviously, even though I have the speech all written in English, they would have been speaking in Chinese...one dialect or the other.  
This one...it took a lot longer to get the plot for, because I'm not very knowledgeable on this particular event...so if there is anything noticeably wrong, please let me know!!

* * *

Yao sat up in the hospital bed painfully when he heard the approaching footsteps. They were light and childish, rushing to get to the room. He glanced over at the door as it slid open and Puyi, the little emperor, walked over. "Zhōng guó…"

China smiled over, taking the small boys hand gently in his own. The little emperor was only six, and judging from the look in his eyes, he was afraid. "Are you alright…?" Puyi asked politely, not meeting the nations gaze with his own. He was one of the few people who knew that truth about Yao, what he really was. A soft smile set on his lips, and he nodded, "Of course I'm alright…the question is…are you?"

Yao was not alright, not in the least. The stress of the revolution was pushing down on him, at times making it hard to breathe…but he couldn't show a scared little boy that. The little boy looked up at Yao, meeting his eyes, "I'm scared. And…emperors are not supposed to be scared."  
"Who told you that?" Yao asked, pulling little Puyi up to sit with him on the hospital bed. "Everyone. Everyone tells me that…" Yao frowned, holding the child close to him and sighing, "You have to be scared sometimes…it's only human…"

A shock ran through Yao's body, and he released his grip on the child for a moment. Puyi looked up at him, confused. The ever strong nation, sitting there weakly and clutching his stomach in pain. It was truly…frightening. Tears came to the emperors eyes, and he clutched him tightly.

Yao nuzzled against him once the pain had resided, and murmured soft comforts into the boys' ear. "I remember…when you first came to the Forbidden City, little emperor…you didn't understand at all. Overnight, you were told to be a God…"  
Puyi remembered, and also remembered how the one man who didn't bow before him when he walked was Yao. How, when he realized he had the power, he tried to have Yao beaten for it. And he remembered how foolish he felt when he found that Yao was actually China.

"Everything will be alright…I promise you. China cannot die. The world cannot survive without us." Puyi climbed down off the bed, nodding slightly. His wet nurse came in, and bowed to Yao. He smiled lightly, but turned his attention back to Puyi for a moment, "No matter what happens, you will always be our little emperor."

* * *

"I accept the terms." Puyi said softly, after much persuasion from the ministers.  
"Thank you, sir."  
The ink came down upon the papers, and the imperial family was no more. Yao had managed to get out of the hospital to see it, and smiled lightly. He was weak. His country was weak. But they would find their strength again. 268 years of government were gone, but they would rise. They would only become stronger…

But it wouldn't come easily.


	4. 1917: Fall of the Romanovs

1917

AN; This one was a little bit easier, because I've seen things like this written before and I knew a little bit more where I wanted to go with this one. Originally, I was going to have Russia leading the revolution, but it wouldn't have fit the flow as well...maybe I'll write that version some other time.  
And, like the last one, even though the dialog is written in English, they would have been speaking Russian.  
I hate the ending, but that's...pretty much how it happened.

--

The shots were loud in the children's ears, and Ivan covered them as best he could from the sound. Shouts of curses and hatred were coming from the street below, and he was forced to leave the children for a moment on the bed alone to close the window.

"Russia...? Why do they hate us?" The voice of the little Tsarevich rang out, and Ivan looked over his shoulder at the two youngest Romanovs, little Anastasia and Alexei. A sigh managed to escape, and he walked back over, "They don't hate you, no...They're just...angry."

"Angry at father." Anastasia mumbled, glancing downward at the woven carpet. Ivan sighed again, "No, not at your father, just...in general. Things aren't as easy for them as they are for you two." Another shout outside, and Ivan was beginning to get worried. "It's time to go, children. Take your things..."

They were taken to the Ipatiev House, and they had been living in a frightened silence. It was late night, but Ivan knew what was coming. He could feel it. Running his hand over Alexei's hair, he prayed quietly that someone- anyone would protect the children and the family. But he knew what was coming.

Someone came into the room, and began awaking the family. Ivan cursed quietly to himself as the Romanov's were told to hurry and get dressed. They were being moved for their own safety.  
The girls pulled on their dresses with some help from their mothers maid and from Ivan, and followed them down the hall. "Russia?" Anastasia whispered, nudging the nation in the side.  
"Hm? What is it, Grand Duchess?"  
"Why is my dress so heavy?" Ivan glanced down at her, before putting a finger to his lips and sushing her. They walked into a plain room, and their mother muttered something about their being no chairs.

"My apologies, Grand Duchess." Yurovsky apologized, and ordered someone to bring in chairs for the royal family. When everyone was seated, the man began to tell the reason why he they were there. Ivan had to clench his fists tightly, closing his eyes. /No. This isn't happening./

He heard the shots, and the girls screaming over their father. Move shots, and the screaming stopped. Yurovsky looked over at Ivan, then back at the remains of the Romanovs. "It had to happen, Russia. You know that."

"...of course."  
Once the men left, Ivan looked down at the children one last time. /Where are we going from here?/

--

Nicholas was carrying his son; when the family arrived in the basement, the former empress complained that there were no chairs for them to sit in. Yurovsky ordered chairs brought in, and when the empress and the heir were seated, the executioners filed into the room. Yurovsky announced to them that they had been condemned to death by the Ural Soviet of Workers' Deputies. A stunned Nicholas asked, "What? What?" and turned toward his family. Yurovsky repeated the order. One witness among the several who later wrote accounts of Nicholas's last moments reported that the Tsar said, "You know not what you do," paraphrasing Jesus's words on the cross.

The executioners drew revolvers and the shooting began. Nicholas was the first to die; Yurovsky shot him multiple times in the head and chest. Anastasia, Tatiana, Olga, and Maria survived the first hail of bullets; the sisters were wearing over 1.3 kilograms of diamonds and precious gems sewn into their clothing, which provided some initial protection from the bullets and were stabbed with bayonets and then shot at close range in the head.

~Wikipedia


End file.
